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<h2>THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD THE SECOND</h2>

<hr />

<h3>Contents</h3>

<table summary="" style="">

<tr>

<td> ACT I</td><td></td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneI_28.1|Scene I.]]</td><td>London. A Room in the palace.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneI_28.2|Scene II.]]</td><td>The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster's palace.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneI_28.3|Scene III.]]</td><td>Open Space, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &amp;amp;c., attending.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneI_28.4|Scene IV.]]</td><td>London. A Room in the King's Castle.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> <br />ACT II</td><td></td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneII_28.1|Scene I.]]</td><td>London. An Apartment in Ely House.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneII_28.2|Scene II.]]</td><td>The Same. A Room in the Castle.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneII_28.3|Scene III.]]</td><td>The Wolds in Gloucestershire.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneII_28.4|Scene IV.]]</td><td>A camp in Wales.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> <br/>ACT III</td><td></td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneIII_28.1|Scene I.]]</td><td>Bristol. Bolingbroke's camp.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneIII_28.2|Scene II.]]</td><td>The coast of Wales. A castle in view.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneIII_28.3|Scene III.]]</td><td>Wales. Before Flint Castle.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneIII_28.4|Scene IV.]]</td><td>Langley. The Duke of York's garden.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> <br/>ACT IV</td><td></td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneIV_28.1|Scene I.]]</td><td>Westminster Hall.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> <br/>ACT V</td><td></td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneV_28.1|Scene I.]]</td><td>London. A street leading to the Tower.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneV_28.2|Scene II.]]</td><td>The same. A room in the Duke of York's palace.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneV_28.3|Scene III.]]</td><td>Windsor. A room in the Castle.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneV_28.4|Scene IV.]]</td><td>Another room in the Castle.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneV_28.5|Scene V.]]</td><td>Pomfret. The dungeon of the Castle.</td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td> [[#sceneV_28.6|Scene VI.]]</td><td>Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle.</td>

</tr>

</table>

<h3>Dramatis Personæ</h3>

<p class="noindent">

KING RICHARD THE SECOND<br/>

JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King<br/>

EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King<br/>

HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV<br/>

DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York<br/>

THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk<br/>

DUKE OF SURREY<br/>

EARL OF SALISBURY<br/>

LORD BERKELEY<br/>

BUSHY - Servant to King Richard<br/>

BAGOT - Servant to King Richard<br/>

GREEN - Servant to King Richard<br/>

EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND<br/>

HARRY PERCY, surnamed Hotspur, his son<br/>

LORD ROSS<br/>

LORD WILLOUGHBY<br/>

LORD FITZWATER<br/>

BISHOP OF CARLISLE<br/>

ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER<br/>

LORD MARSHAL<br/>

SIR PIERCE OF EXTON<br/>

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP<br/>

Captain of a band of Welshmen

</p>

<p class="noindent">

QUEEN TO KING RICHARD<br/>

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER<br/>

DUCHESS OF YORK<br/>

Lady attending on the Queen

</p>

<p class="noindent">

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and

other Attendants

</p>

<h3><b>SCENE: Dispersedly in England and Wales.</b></h3>

<h2><b>ACT I</b></h2>

<h3 id="sceneI_28.1"> <b>SCENE I. London. A Room in the palace.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">King Richard, John of

Gaunt,</span> with other Nobles and Attendants.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,<br/>

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,<br/>

Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,<br/>

Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal,<br/>

Which then our leisure would not let us hear,<br/>

Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

I have, my liege.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him<br/>

If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,<br/>

Or worthily, as a good subject should,<br/>

On some known ground of treachery in him?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

As near as I could sift him on that argument,<br/>

On some apparent danger seen in him<br/>

Aimed at your Highness, no inveterate malice.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Then call them to our presence. Face to face<br/>

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear<br/>

The accuser and the accused freely speak.<br/>

High-stomached are they both and full of ire,<br/>

In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc">Enter <span class="charname">Bolingbroke</span>

and <span class="charname">Mowbray</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Many years of happy days befall<br/>

My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

Each day still better other's happiness<br/>

Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,<br/>

Add an immortal title to your crown!

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

We thank you both. Yet one but flatters us,<br/>

As well appeareth by the cause you come,<br/>

Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.<br/>

Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object<br/>

Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

First&amp;mdash;heaven be the record to my speech!&amp;mdash;<br/>

In the devotion of a subject's love,<br/>

Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince,<br/>

And free from other misbegotten hate,<br/>

Come I appellant to this princely presence.<br/>

Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,<br/>

And mark my greeting well; for what I speak<br/>

My body shall make good upon this earth,<br/>

Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.<br/>

Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,<br/>

Too good to be so and too bad to live,<br/>

Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,<br/>

The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.<br/>

Once more, the more to aggravate the note,<br/>

With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat,<br/>

And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,<br/>

What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.<br/>

'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,<br/>

The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,<br/>

Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;<br/>

The blood is hot that must be cooled for this.<br/>

Yet can I not of such tame patience boast<br/>

As to be hushed and naught at all to say.<br/>

First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me<br/>

From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,<br/>

Which else would post until it had returned<br/>

These terms of treason doubled down his throat.<br/>

Setting aside his high blood's royalty,<br/>

And let him be no kinsman to my liege,<br/>

I do defy him, and I spit at him,<br/>

Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;<br/>

Which to maintain, I would allow him odds<br/>

And meet him, were I tied to run afoot<br/>

Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,<br/>

Or any other ground inhabitable<br/>

Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.<br/>

Meantime let this defend my loyalty:<br/>

By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,<br/>

Disclaiming here the kindred of the King,<br/>

And lay aside my high blood's royalty,<br/>

Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.<br/>

If guilty dread have left thee so much strength<br/>

As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop.<br/>

By that and all the rites of knighthood else,<br/>

Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,<br/>

What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

I take it up; and by that sword I swear<br/>

Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,<br/>

I'll answer thee in any fair degree<br/>

Or chivalrous design of knightly trial.<br/>

And when I mount, alive may I not light<br/>

If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?<br/>

It must be great that can inherit us<br/>

So much as of a thought of ill in him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true:<br/>

That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles<br/>

In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,<br/>

The which he hath detained for lewd employments,<br/>

Like a false traitor and injurious villain.<br/>

Besides I say, and will in battle prove,<br/>

Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge<br/>

That ever was surveyed by English eye,<br/>

That all the treasons for these eighteen years<br/>

Complotted and contrived in this land<br/>

Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.<br/>

Further I say, and further will maintain<br/>

Upon his bad life to make all this good,<br/>

That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,<br/>

Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,<br/>

And consequently, like a traitor coward,<br/>

Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood,<br/>

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries<br/>

Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth<br/>

To me for justice and rough chastisement.<br/>

And, by the glorious worth of my descent,<br/>

This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

How high a pitch his resolution soars!<br/>

Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

O! let my sovereign turn away his face<br/>

And bid his ears a little while be deaf,<br/>

Till I have told this slander of his blood<br/>

How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.<br/>

Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,<br/>

As he is but my father's brother's son,<br/>

Now, by my sceptre's awe I make a vow<br/>

Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood<br/>

Should nothing privilege him nor partialize<br/>

The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.<br/>

He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou.<br/>

Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,<br/>

Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.<br/>

Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais<br/>

Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;<br/>

The other part reserved I by consent,<br/>

For that my sovereign liege was in my debt<br/>

Upon remainder of a dear account<br/>

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen.<br/>

Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,<br/>

I slew him not, but to my own disgrace<br/>

Neglected my sworn duty in that case.<br/>

For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,<br/>

The honourable father to my foe,<br/>

Once did I lay an ambush for your life,<br/>

A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;<br/>

But ere I last received the sacrament<br/>

I did confess it and exactly begged<br/>

Your Grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.<br/>

This is my fault. As for the rest appealed,<br/>

It issues from the rancour of a villain,<br/>

A recreant and most degenerate traitor,<br/>

Which in myself I boldly will defend,<br/>

And interchangeably hurl down my gage<br/>

Upon this overweening traitor's foot,<br/>

To prove myself a loyal gentleman<br/>

Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom.<br/>

In haste whereof most heartily I pray<br/>

Your highness to assign our trial day.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me.<br/>

Let's purge this choler without letting blood.<br/>

This we prescribe, though no physician;<br/>

Deep malice makes too deep incision.<br/>

Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed;<br/>

Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.<br/>

Good uncle, let this end where it begun;<br/>

We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

To be a make-peace shall become my age.<br/>

Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

And, Norfolk, throw down his.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

When, Harry, when?<br/>

Obedience bids I should not bid again.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.<br/>

My life thou shalt command, but not my shame.<br/>

The one my duty owes; but my fair name,<br/>

Despite of death that lives upon my grave,<br/>

To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.<br/>

I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here,<br/>

Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,<br/>

The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood<br/>

Which breathed this poison.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Rage must be withstood.<br/>

Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,<br/>

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,<br/>

The purest treasure mortal times afford<br/>

Is spotless reputation; that away,<br/>

Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.<br/>

A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest<br/>

Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.<br/>

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one.<br/>

Take honour from me, and my life is done.<br/>

Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;<br/>

In that I live, and for that will I die.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!<br/>

Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?<br/>

Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height<br/>

Before this outdared dastard? Ere my tongue<br/>

Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong<br/>

Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear<br/>

The slavish motive of recanting fear<br/>

And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,<br/>

Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit <span class="charname">Gaunt</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

We were not born to sue, but to command;<br/>

Which since we cannot do to make you friends,<br/>

Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,<br/>

At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day.<br/>

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate<br/>

The swelling difference of your settled hate.<br/>

Since we cannot atone you, we shall see<br/>

Justice design the victor's chivalry.<br/>

Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms<br/>

Be ready to direct these home alarms.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneI_28.2"> <b>SCENE II. The same. A room in

the Duke of Lancaster's palace.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">John of Gaunt</span> with

the <span class="charname">Duchess of Gloucester</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood<br/>

Doth more solicit me than your exclaims<br/>

To stir against the butchers of his life.<br/>

But since correction lieth in those hands<br/>

Which made the fault that we cannot correct,<br/>

Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven,<br/>

Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,<br/>

Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?<br/>

Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?<br/>

Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,<br/>

Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,<br/>

Or seven fair branches springing from one root.<br/>

Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,<br/>

Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;<br/>

But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,<br/>

One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,<br/>

One flourishing branch of his most royal root,<br/>

Is cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt,<br/>

Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded,<br/>

By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.<br/>

Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,<br/>

That metal, that self mould, that fashioned thee<br/>

Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,<br/>

Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent<br/>

In some large measure to thy father's death<br/>

In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,<br/>

Who was the model of thy father's life.<br/>

Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair.<br/>

In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered,<br/>

Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,<br/>

Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.<br/>

That which in mean men we entitle patience<br/>

Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.<br/>

What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life,<br/>

The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,<br/>

His deputy anointed in His sight,<br/>

Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully,<br/>

Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift<br/>

An angry arm against His minister.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Where then, alas! may I complain myself?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

To God, the widow's champion and defence.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.<br/>

Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold<br/>

Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.<br/>

O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,<br/>

That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!<br/>

Or if misfortune miss the first career,<br/>

Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom<br/>

That they may break his foaming courser's back<br/>

And throw the rider headlong in the lists,<br/>

A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!<br/>

Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometimes brother's wife<br/>

With her companion, Grief, must end her life.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.<br/>

As much good stay with thee as go with me!

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls,<br/>

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.<br/>

I take my leave before I have begun,<br/>

For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.<br/>

Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.<br/>

Lo, this is all. Nay, yet depart not so!<br/>

Though this be all, do not so quickly go;<br/>

I shall remember more. Bid him&amp;mdash;ah, what?&amp;mdash;<br/>

With all good speed at Plashy visit me.<br/>

Alack, and what shall good old York there see<br/>

But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,<br/>

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?<br/>

And what hear there for welcome but my groans?<br/>

Therefore commend me; let him not come there<br/>

To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere.<br/>

Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die!<br/>

The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneI_28.3"> <b>SCENE III. Open Space, near

Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &amp;amp;c., attending.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter the <span class="charname">Lord Marshal</span> and the 

<span class="charname">Duke of Aumerle</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,<br/>

Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Why then, the champions are prepared and stay<br/>

For nothing but his Majesty's approach.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">King Richard,</span> who

takes his seat on his Throne; <span class="charname">Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot,

Green</span> and others, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and

answered by another trumpet within. Then enter <span

class="charname">Mowbray</span> in armour, defendant, preceeded by a

Herald.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Marshal, demand of yonder champion<br/>

The cause of his arrival here in arms.<br/>

Ask him his name, and orderly proceed<br/>

To swear him in the justice of his cause.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

In God's name and the King's, say who thou art,<br/>

And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,<br/>

Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel.<br/>

Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath,<br/>

As so defend thee heaven and thy valour.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,<br/>

Who hither come engaged by my oath&amp;mdash;<br/>

Which God defend a knight should violate!&amp;mdash;<br/>

Both to defend my loyalty and truth<br/>

To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,<br/>

Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me,<br/>

And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,<br/>

To prove him, in defending of myself,<br/>

A traitor to my God, my king, and me;<br/>

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>He takes his seat.</i>]</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Trumpet sounds. Enter

<span class="charname">Bolingbroke,</span> appellant, in armour, preceeded by

a Herald.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms<br/>

Both who he is and why he cometh hither<br/>

Thus plated in habiliments of war,<br/>

And formally, according to our law,<br/>

Depose him in the justice of his cause.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

What is thy name? And wherefore com'st thou hither<br/>

Before King Richard in his royal lists?<br/>

Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?<br/>

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,<br/>

Am I, who ready here do stand in arms<br/>

To prove by God's grace and my body's valour,<br/>

In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,<br/>

That he's a traitor foul and dangerous,<br/>

To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.<br/>

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

On pain of death, no person be so bold<br/>

Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,<br/>

Except the Marshal and such officers<br/>

Appointed to direct these fair designs.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand<br/>

And bow my knee before his Majesty.<br/>

For Mowbray and myself are like two men<br/>

That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;<br/>

Then let us take a ceremonious leave<br/>

And loving farewell of our several friends.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

The appellant in all duty greets your highness<br/>

And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD. [<i>Descends from his throne</i>.]<br/>

We will descend and fold him in our arms.<br/>

Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,<br/>

So be thy fortune in this royal fight.<br/>

Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed,<br/>

Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

O, let no noble eye profane a tear<br/>

For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear.<br/>

As confident as is the falcon's flight<br/>

Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.<br/>

My loving lord, I take my leave of you.<br/>

Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;<br/>

Not sick, although I have to do with death,<br/>

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.<br/>

Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet<br/>

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.<br/>

O thou, the earthly author of my blood,<br/>

Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,<br/>

Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up<br/>

To reach at victory above my head,<br/>

Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,<br/>

And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,<br/>

That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat<br/>

And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt,<br/>

Even in the lusty haviour of his son.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.<br/>

Be swift like lightning in the execution,<br/>

And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,<br/>

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque<br/>

Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.<br/>

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>He takes his seat.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY. [<i>Rising</i>.]<br/>

However God or fortune cast my lot,<br/>

There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,<br/>

A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.<br/>

Never did captive with a freer heart<br/>

Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace<br/>

His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement,<br/>

More than my dancing soul doth celebrate<br/>

This feast of battle with mine adversary.<br/>

Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,<br/>

Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.<br/>

As gentle and as jocund as to jest<br/>

Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy<br/>

Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.<br/>

Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>The <span class="charname">King</span> and the Lords

return to their seats.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,<br/>

Receive thy lance; and God defend the right.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE. [<i>Rising</i>.]<br/>

Strong as a tower in hope, I cry &amp;ldquo;Amen&amp;rdquo;!

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

[<i>To an officer</i>.] Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

</p>

<p class="drama">

FIRST HERALD.<br/>

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,<br/>

Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,<br/>

On pain to be found false and recreant,<br/>

To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,<br/>

A traitor to his God, his King, and him,<br/>

And dares him to set forward to the fight.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SECOND HERALD.<br/>

Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,<br/>

On pain to be found false and recreant,<br/>

Both to defend himself and to approve<br/>

Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,<br/>

To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,<br/>

Courageously and with a free desire,<br/>

Attending but the signal to begin.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

Sound trumpets, and set forward, combatants.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>A charge sounded.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Stay! the King hath thrown his warder down.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,<br/>

And both return back to their chairs again.<br/>

Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound<br/>

While we return these dukes what we decree.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>A long flourish.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

[<i>To the Combatants</i>.] Draw near,<br/>

And list what with our council we have done.<br/>

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled<br/>

With that dear blood which it hath fostered;<br/>

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect<br/>

Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours' swords;<br/>

And for we think the eagle-winged pride<br/>

Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,<br/>

With rival-hating envy, set on you<br/>

To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle<br/>

Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep,<br/>

Which so roused up with boist'rous untuned drums,<br/>

With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,<br/>

And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,<br/>

Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace<br/>

And make us wade even in our kindred's blood:<br/>

Therefore we banish you our territories.<br/>

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,<br/>

Till twice five summers have enriched our fields<br/>

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,<br/>

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Your will be done. This must my comfort be:<br/>

That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,<br/>

And those his golden beams to you here lent<br/>

Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,<br/>

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:<br/>

The sly slow hours shall not determinate<br/>

The dateless limit of thy dear exile.<br/>

The hopeless word of &amp;ldquo;never to return&amp;rdquo;<br/>

Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,<br/>

And all unlooked for from your highness' mouth.<br/>

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim<br/>

As to be cast forth in the common air,<br/>

Have I deserved at your highness' hands.<br/>

The language I have learnt these forty years,<br/>

My native English, now I must forgo;<br/>

And now my tongue's use is to me no more<br/>

Than an unstringed viol or a harp,<br/>

Or like a cunning instrument cased up<br/>

Or, being open, put into his hands<br/>

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.<br/>

Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue,<br/>

Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,<br/>

And dull unfeeling, barren ignorance<br/>

Is made my gaoler to attend on me.<br/>

I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,<br/>

Too far in years to be a pupil now.<br/>

What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,<br/>

Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

It boots thee not to be compassionate.<br/>

After our sentence plaining comes too late.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

Then thus I turn me from my country's light,<br/>

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Retiring.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Return again, and take an oath with thee.<br/>

Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.<br/>

Swear by the duty that you owe to God&amp;mdash;<br/>

Our part therein we banish with yourselves&amp;mdash;<br/>

To keep the oath that we administer:<br/>

You never shall, so help you truth and God,<br/>

Embrace each other's love in banishment;<br/>

Nor never look upon each other's face;<br/>

Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile<br/>

This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;<br/>

Nor never by advised purpose meet<br/>

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill<br/>

'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

I swear.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

And I, to keep all this.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:<br/>

By this time, had the King permitted us,<br/>

One of our souls had wandered in the air,<br/>

Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh,<br/>

As now our flesh is banished from this land.<br/>

Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm.<br/>

Since thou hast far to go, bear not along<br/>

The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MOWBRAY.<br/>

No, Bolingbroke. If ever I were traitor,<br/>

My name be blotted from the book of life,<br/>

And I from heaven banished as from hence!<br/>

But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;<br/>

And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.<br/>

Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;<br/>

Save back to England, all the world's my way.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes<br/>

I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect<br/>

Hath from the number of his banished years<br/>

Plucked four away. [<i>To Bolingbroke</i>.] Six frozen winters spent,<br/>

Return with welcome home from banishment.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

How long a time lies in one little word!<br/>

Four lagging winters and four wanton springs<br/>

End in a word: such is the breath of kings.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

I thank my liege that in regard of me<br/>

He shortens four years of my son's exile;<br/>

But little vantage shall I reap thereby,<br/>

For, ere the six years that he hath to spend<br/>

Can change their moons and bring their times about,<br/>

My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light<br/>

Shall be extinct with age and endless night;<br/>

My inch of taper will be burnt and done,<br/>

And blindfold death not let me see my son.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

But not a minute, king, that thou canst give.<br/>

Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,<br/>

And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.<br/>

Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,<br/>

But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;<br/>

Thy word is current with him for my death,<br/>

But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Thy son is banished upon good advice,<br/>

Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.<br/>

Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.<br/>

You urged me as a judge, but I had rather<br/>

You would have bid me argue like a father.<br/>

O, had it been a stranger, not my child,<br/>

To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.<br/>

A partial slander sought I to avoid,<br/>

And in the sentence my own life destroyed.<br/>

Alas, I looked when some of you should say<br/>

I was too strict to make mine own away;<br/>

But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue<br/>

Against my will to do myself this wrong.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Cousin, farewell, and, uncle, bid him so.<br/>

Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Flourish. Exit <span class="charname">King Richard</span> and Train.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know,<br/>

From where you do remain let paper show.

</p>

<p class="drama">

MARSHAL.<br/>

My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride,<br/>

As far as land will let me, by your side.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,<br/>

That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

I have too few to take my leave of you,<br/>

When the tongue's office should be prodigal<br/>

To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

What is six winters? They are quickly gone.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,<br/>

Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

The sullen passage of thy weary steps<br/>

Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set<br/>

The precious jewel of thy home return.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make<br/>

Will but remember me what a deal of world<br/>

I wander from the jewels that I love.<br/>

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood<br/>

To foreign passages, and in the end,<br/>

Having my freedom, boast of nothing else<br/>

But that I was a journeyman to grief?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

All places that the eye of heaven visits<br/>

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.<br/>

Teach thy necessity to reason thus:<br/>

There is no virtue like necessity.<br/>

Think not the King did banish thee,<br/>

But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit<br/>

Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.<br/>

Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,<br/>

And not the King exiled thee; or suppose<br/>

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,<br/>

And thou art flying to a fresher clime.<br/>

Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it<br/>

To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st.<br/>

Suppose the singing birds musicians,<br/>

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strewed,<br/>

The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more<br/>

Than a delightful measure or a dance;<br/>

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite<br/>

The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

O, who can hold a fire in his hand<br/>

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?<br/>

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite<br/>

By bare imagination of a feast?<br/>

Or wallow naked in December snow<br/>

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?<br/>

O no, the apprehension of the good<br/>

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.<br/>

Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more<br/>

Than when it bites but lanceth not the sore.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way.<br/>

Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu,<br/>

My mother and my nurse that bears me yet!<br/>

Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,<br/>

Though banished, yet a true-born Englishman.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneI_28.4"> <b>SCENE IV. London. A Room in the King's Castle</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">King Richard, Green</span>

and <span class="charname">Bagot</span> at one door;

<span class="charname">Aumerle</span> at another.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

We did observe.&amp;mdash;Cousin Aumerle,<br/>

How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,<br/>

But to the next highway, and there I left him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Faith, none for me, except the northeast wind,<br/>

Which then blew bitterly against our faces,<br/>

Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance<br/>

Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

What said our cousin when you parted with him?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

&amp;ldquo;Farewell.&amp;rdquo;<br/>

And, for my heart disdained that my tongue<br/>

Should so profane the word, that taught me craft<br/>

To counterfeit oppression of such grief<br/>

That words seemed buried in my sorrow's grave.<br/>

Marry, would the word &amp;ldquo;farewell&amp;rdquo; have lengthened hours<br/>

And added years to his short banishment,<br/>

He should have had a volume of farewells,<br/>

But since it would not, he had none of me.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

He is our cousin, cousin, but 'tis doubt,<br/>

When time shall call him home from banishment,<br/>

Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.<br/>

Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green,<br/>

Observed his courtship to the common people,<br/>

How he did seem to dive into their hearts<br/>

With humble and familiar courtesy,<br/>

What reverence he did throw away on slaves,<br/>

Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles<br/>

And patient underbearing of his fortune,<br/>

As 'twere to banish their affects with him.<br/>

Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;<br/>

A brace of draymen bid God speed him well,<br/>

And had the tribute of his supple knee,<br/>

With &amp;ldquo;Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends&amp;rdquo;,<br/>

As were our England in reversion his,<br/>

And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.<br/>

Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,<br/>

Expedient manage must be made, my liege,<br/>

Ere further leisure yield them further means<br/>

For their advantage and your highness' loss.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

We will ourself in person to this war.<br/>

And, for our coffers, with too great a court<br/>

And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,<br/>

We are enforced to farm our royal realm,<br/>

The revenue whereof shall furnish us<br/>

For our affairs in hand. If that come short,<br/>

Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters<br/>

Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,<br/>

They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,<br/>

And send them after to supply our wants;<br/>

For we will make for Ireland presently.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Bushy</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

Bushy, what news?</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,<br/>

Suddenly taken, and hath sent poste-haste<br/>

To entreat your Majesty to visit him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Where lies he?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

At Ely House.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Now put it, God, in his physician's mind<br/>

To help him to his grave immediately!<br/>

The lining of his coffers shall make coats<br/>

To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.<br/>

Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him.<br/>

Pray God we may make haste and come too late!

</p>

<p class="drama">

ALL.<br/>

Amen!</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h2><b>ACT II</b></h2>

<h3 id="sceneII_28.1"> <b>SCENE I. London. An Apartment in Ely House.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"><span class="charname">Gaunt</span> on a couch; the

<span class="charname">Duke of York</span> and Others standing by him.</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Will the King come, that I may breathe my last<br/>

In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath,<br/>

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

O, but they say the tongues of dying men<br/>

Enforce attention like deep harmony.<br/>

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,<br/>

For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.<br/>

He that no more must say is listened more<br/>

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose.<br/>

More are men's ends marked than their lives before.<br/>

The setting sun and music at the close,<br/>

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,<br/>

Writ in remembrance more than things long past.<br/>

Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,<br/>

My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

No, it is stopped with other flattering sounds,<br/>

As praises, of whose state the wise are fond;<br/>

Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound<br/>

The open ear of youth doth always listen;<br/>

Report of fashions in proud Italy,<br/>

Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation<br/>

Limps after in base imitation.<br/>

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity&amp;mdash;<br/>

So it be new, there's no respect how vile&amp;mdash;<br/>

That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?<br/>

Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,<br/>

Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.<br/>

Direct not him whose way himself will choose.<br/>

'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Methinks I am a prophet new inspired,<br/>

And thus expiring do foretell of him:<br/>

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,<br/>

For violent fires soon burn out themselves;<br/>

Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;<br/>

He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;<br/>

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder.<br/>

Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,<br/>

Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.<br/>

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,<br/>

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,<br/>

This other Eden, demi-paradise,<br/>

This fortress built by Nature for herself<br/>

Against infection and the hand of war,<br/>

This happy breed of men, this little world,<br/>

This precious stone set in the silver sea,<br/>

Which serves it in the office of a wall<br/>

Or as a moat defensive to a house,<br/>

Against the envy of less happier lands;<br/>

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,<br/>

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,<br/>

Feared by their breed, and famous by their birth,<br/>

Renowned for their deeds as far from home,<br/>

For Christian service and true chivalry,<br/>

As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry<br/>

Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,<br/>

This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,<br/>

Dear for her reputation through the world,<br/>

Is now leased out&amp;mdash;I die pronouncing it&amp;mdash;<br/>

Like to a tenement or pelting farm.<br/>

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,<br/>

Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege<br/>

Of wat'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,<br/>

With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds<br/>

That England that was wont to conquer others<br/>

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.<br/>

Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,<br/>

How happy then were my ensuing death!

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">King Richard</span> and

<span class="charname">Queen; Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross</span> and

<span class="charname">Willoughby</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

The King is come. Deal mildly with his youth,<br/>

For young hot colts, being raged, do rage the more.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

O, how that name befits my composition!<br/>

Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.<br/>

Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,<br/>

And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?<br/>

For sleeping England long time have I watched;<br/>

Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.<br/>

The pleasure that some fathers feed upon<br/>

Is my strict fast&amp;mdash;I mean my children's looks,<br/>

And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.<br/>

Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,<br/>

Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.<br/>

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,<br/>

I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Should dying men flatter with those that live?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

No, no, men living flatter those that die.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

O, no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

Now, He that made me knows I see thee ill,<br/>

Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.<br/>

Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land,<br/>

Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;<br/>

And thou, too careless patient as thou art,<br/>

Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure<br/>

Of those physicians that first wounded thee.<br/>

A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,<br/>

Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;<br/>

And yet, encaged in so small a verge,<br/>

The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.<br/>

O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye<br/>

Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,<br/>

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,<br/>

Deposing thee before thou wert possessed,<br/>

Which art possessed now to depose thyself.<br/>

Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,<br/>

It were a shame to let this land by lease;<br/>

But for thy world enjoying but this land,<br/>

Is it not more than shame to shame it so?<br/>

Landlord of England art thou now, not king.<br/>

Thy state of law is bondslave to the law,<br/>

And thou&amp;mdash;

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

A lunatic lean-witted fool,<br/>

Presuming on an ague's privilege,<br/>

Darest with thy frozen admonition<br/>

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood<br/>

With fury from his native residence.<br/>

Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,<br/>

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,<br/>

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head<br/>

Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GAUNT.<br/>

O! spare me not, my brother Edward's son,<br/>

For that I was his father Edward's son.<br/>

That blood already, like the pelican,<br/>

Hast thou tapped out, and drunkenly caroused.<br/>

My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,<br/>

Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!&amp;mdash;<br/>

May be a precedent and witness good<br/>

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood.<br/>

Join with the present sickness that I have,<br/>

And thy unkindness be like crooked age<br/>

To crop at once a too-long withered flower.<br/>

Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!<br/>

These words hereafter thy tormentors be!<br/>

Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.<br/>

Love they to live that love and honour have.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit, borne off by his Attendants.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

And let them die that age and sullens have,<br/>

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

I do beseech your Majesty, impute his words<br/>

To wayward sickliness and age in him.<br/>

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear<br/>

As Harry, Duke of Hereford, were he here.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;<br/>

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Northumberland</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

What says he?

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Nay, nothing; all is said.<br/>

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;<br/>

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!<br/>

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he.<br/>

His time is spent; our pilgrimage must be.<br/>

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:<br/>

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,<br/>

Which live like venom where no venom else<br/>

But only they have privilege to live.<br/>

And, for these great affairs do ask some charge,<br/>

Towards our assistance we do seize to us<br/>

The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables<br/>

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long<br/>

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?<br/>

Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment,<br/>

Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,<br/>

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke<br/>

About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,<br/>

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,<br/>

Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.<br/>

I am the last of noble Edward's sons,<br/>

Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.<br/>

In war was never lion raged more fierce,<br/>

In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,<br/>

Than was that young and princely gentleman.<br/>

His face thou hast, for even so looked he,<br/>

Accomplished with the number of thy hours;<br/>

But when he frowned, it was against the French<br/>

And not against his friends. His noble hand<br/>

Did win what he did spend, and spent not that<br/>

Which his triumphant father's hand had won.<br/>

His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,<br/>

But bloody with the enemies of his kin.<br/>

O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,<br/>

Or else he never would compare between.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Why, uncle, what's the matter?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

O my liege.<br/>

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased<br/>

Not to be pardoned, am content withal.<br/>

Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands<br/>

The royalties and rights of banished Hereford?<br/>

Is not Gaunt dead? And doth not Hereford live?<br/>

Was not Gaunt just? And is not Harry true?<br/>

Did not the one deserve to have an heir?<br/>

Is not his heir a well-deserving son?<br/>

Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time<br/>

His charters and his customary rights;<br/>

Let not tomorrow then ensue today;<br/>

Be not thyself; for how art thou a king<br/>

But by fair sequence and succession?<br/>

Now, afore God&amp;mdash;God forbid I say true!&amp;mdash;<br/>

If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,<br/>

Call in the letters patents that he hath<br/>

By his attorneys-general to sue<br/>

His livery, and deny his offered homage,<br/>

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,<br/>

You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,<br/>

And prick my tender patience to those thoughts<br/>

Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Think what you will, we seize into our hands<br/>

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.<br/>

What will ensue hereof there's none can tell;<br/>

But by bad courses may be understood<br/>

That their events can never fall out good.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight.<br/>

Bid him repair to us to Ely House<br/>

To see this business. Tomorrow next<br/>

We will for Ireland, and 'tis time, I trow.<br/>

And we create, in absence of ourself,<br/>

Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England,<br/>

For he is just, and always loved us well.<br/>

Come on, our queen. Tomorrow must we part;<br/>

Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt <span class="charname">King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, Green</span> and

<span class="charname">Bagot</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

And living too, for now his son is Duke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

Barely in title, not in revenues.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Richly in both, if justice had her right.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

My heart is great, but it must break with silence<br/>

Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne'er speak more<br/>

That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?<br/>

If it be so, out with it boldly, man.<br/>

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

No good at all that I can do for him,<br/>

Unless you call it good to pity him,<br/>

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne<br/>

In him, a royal prince, and many moe<br/>

Of noble blood in this declining land.<br/>

The King is not himself, but basely led<br/>

By flatterers; and what they will inform,<br/>

Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,<br/>

That will the King severely prosecute<br/>

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes,<br/>

And quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fined<br/>

For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

And daily new exactions are devised,<br/>

As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what.<br/>

But what, i' God's name, doth become of this?

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Wars hath not wasted it, for warred he hath not,<br/>

But basely yielded upon compromise<br/>

That which his ancestors achieved with blows.<br/>

More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

He hath not money for these Irish wars,<br/>

His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,<br/>

But by the robbing of the banished Duke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

His noble kinsman. Most degenerate king!<br/>

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,<br/>

Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;<br/>

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,<br/>

And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

We see the very wrack that we must suffer;<br/>

And unavoided is the danger now<br/>

For suffering so the causes of our wrack.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Not so. Even through the hollow eyes of death<br/>

I spy life peering; but I dare not say<br/>

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

Be confident to speak, Northumberland.<br/>

We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,<br/>

Thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore be bold.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay<br/>

In Brittany, received intelligence<br/>

That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,<br/>

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,<br/>

His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,<br/>

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,<br/>

Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Coint,<br/>

All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittany<br/>

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,<br/>

Are making hither with all due expedience,<br/>

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.<br/>

Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay<br/>

The first departing of the king for Ireland.<br/>

If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,<br/>

Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,<br/>

Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown,<br/>

Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,<br/>

And make high majesty look like itself,<br/>

Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh.<br/>

But if you faint, as fearing to do so,<br/>

Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneII_28.2"> <b>SCENE II. The Same. A Room in the Castle.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Queen, Bushy</span> and

<span class="charname">Bagot</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.<br/>

You promised, when you parted with the King,<br/>

To lay aside life-harming heaviness<br/>

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

To please the King I did; to please myself<br/>

I cannot do it. Yet I know no cause<br/>

Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,<br/>

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest<br/>

As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks,<br/>

Some unborn sorrow, ripe in Fortune's womb,<br/>

Is coming towards me, and my inward soul<br/>

With nothing trembles. At something it grieves<br/>

More than with parting from my lord the King.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,<br/>

Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;<br/>

For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,<br/>

Divides one thing entire to many objects,<br/>

Like perspectives which, rightly gazed upon,<br/>

Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry,<br/>

Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,<br/>

Looking awry upon your lord's departure,<br/>

Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail,<br/>

Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows<br/>

Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,<br/>

More than your lord's departure weep not. More is not seen,<br/>

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,<br/>

Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

It may be so; but yet my inward soul<br/>

Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,<br/>

I cannot but be sad&amp;mdash;so heavy sad<br/>

As thought, in thinking, on no thought I think,<br/>

Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

'Tis nothing less. Conceit is still derived<br/>

From some forefather grief. Mine is not so,<br/>

For nothing hath begot my something grief,<br/>

Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.<br/>

'Tis in reversion that I do possess,<br/>

But what it is, that is not yet known what,<br/>

I cannot name. 'Tis nameless woe, I wot.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Green</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

God save your majesty! And well met, gentlemen.<br/>

I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Why hop'st thou so? 'Tis better hope he is,<br/>

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.<br/>

Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

That he, our hope, might have retired his power,<br/>

And driven into despair an enemy's hope<br/>

Who strongly hath set footing in this land.<br/>

The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself,<br/>

And with uplifted arms is safe arrived<br/>

At Ravenspurgh.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Now God in heaven forbid!

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse,<br/>

The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry Percy,<br/>

The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,<br/>

With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland<br/>

And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

We have, whereupon the Earl of Worcester<br/>

Hath broken his staff, resigned his stewardship,<br/>

And all the household servants fled with him<br/>

To Bolingbroke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,<br/>

And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir.<br/>

Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,<br/>

And I, a gasping new-delivered mother,<br/>

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Despair not, madam.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Who shall hinder me?<br/>

I will despair and be at enmity<br/>

With cozening hope. He is a flatterer,<br/>

A parasite, a keeper-back of death,<br/>

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,<br/>

Which false hope lingers in extremity.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">York</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

Here comes the Duke of York.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

With signs of war about his aged neck.<br/>

O! full of careful business are his looks!<br/>

Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.<br/>

Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth,<br/>

Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.<br/>

Your husband, he is gone to save far off,<br/>

Whilst others come to make him lose at home.<br/>

Here am I left to underprop his land,<br/>

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.<br/>

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;<br/>

Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter a <span class="charname">Servingman</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVINGMAN.<br/>

My lord, your son was gone before I came.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

He was? Why, so! Go all which way it will!<br/>

The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold<br/>

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.<br/>

Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;<br/>

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.<br/>

Hold, take my ring.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVINGMAN.<br/>

My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:<br/>

Today, as I came by, I called there&amp;mdash;<br/>

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

What is't, knave?

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVINGMAN.<br/>

An hour before I came, the Duchess died.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

God for his mercy, what a tide of woes<br/>

Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!<br/>

I know not what to do. I would to God,<br/>

So my untruth had not provoked him to it,<br/>

The King had cut off my head with my brother's.<br/>

What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland?<br/>

How shall we do for money for these wars?<br/>

Come, sister&amp;mdash;cousin, I would say, pray, pardon me.<br/>

Go, fellow, get thee home; provide some carts<br/>

And bring away the armour that is there.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit <span class="charname">Servingman</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?<br/>

If I know how or which way to order these affairs<br/>

Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,<br/>

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.<br/>

Th' one is my sovereign, whom both my oath<br/>

And duty bids defend; th' other again<br/>

Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,<br/>

Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.<br/>

Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin,<br/>

I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men,<br/>

And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle.<br/>

I should to Plashy too,<br/>

But time will not permit. All is uneven,<br/>

And everything is left at six and seven.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt <span class="charname">York</span> and

<span class="charname">Queen</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,<br/>

But none returns. For us to levy power<br/>

Proportionable to the enemy<br/>

Is all unpossible.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

Besides, our nearness to the King in love<br/>

Is near the hate of those love not the King.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BAGOT.<br/>

And that is the wavering commons, for their love<br/>

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,<br/>

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Wherein the King stands generally condemned.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BAGOT.<br/>

If judgment lie in them, then so do we,<br/>

Because we ever have been near the King.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle.<br/>

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Thither will I with you, for little office<br/>

Will the hateful commons perform for us,<br/>

Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.<br/>

Will you go along with us?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BAGOT.<br/>

No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty.<br/>

Farewell. If heart's presages be not vain,<br/>

We three here part that ne'er shall meet again.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

Alas, poor Duke! The task he undertakes<br/>

Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.<br/>

Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.<br/>

Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

Well, we may meet again.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BAGOT.<br/>

I fear me, never.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneII_28.3"> <b>SCENE III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Bolingbroke</span> and

<span class="charname">Northumberland</span> with Forces.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Believe me, noble lord,<br/>

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.<br/>

These high wild hills and rough uneven ways<br/>

Draws out our miles and makes them wearisome.<br/>

And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,<br/>

Making the hard way sweet and delectable.<br/>

But I bethink me what a weary way<br/>

From Ravenspurgh to Cotshall will be found<br/>

In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,<br/>

Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled<br/>

The tediousness and process of my travel.<br/>

But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have<br/>

The present benefit which I possess;<br/>

And hope to joy is little less in joy<br/>

Than hope enjoyed. By this the weary lords<br/>

Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done<br/>

By sight of what I have, your noble company.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Of much less value is my company<br/>

Than your good words. But who comes here?

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Harry Percy</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

It is my son, young Harry Percy,<br/>

Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.<br/>

Harry, how fares your uncle?

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of you.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Why, is he not with the Queen?

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

No, my good lord. He hath forsook the court,<br/>

Broken his staff of office, and dispersed<br/>

The household of the King.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

What was his reason?<br/>

He was not so resolved when last we spake together.

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.<br/>

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh<br/>

To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,<br/>

And sent me over by Berkeley to discover<br/>

What power the Duke of York had levied there,<br/>

Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

No, my good lord; for that is not forgot<br/>

Which ne'er I did remember. To my knowledge,<br/>

I never in my life did look on him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Then learn to know him now. This is the Duke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

My gracious lord, I tender you my service,<br/>

Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,<br/>

Which elder days shall ripen and confirm<br/>

To more approved service and desert.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure<br/>

I count myself in nothing else so happy<br/>

As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;<br/>

And as my fortune ripens with thy love,<br/>

It shall be still thy true love's recompense.<br/>

My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir<br/>

Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

There stands the castle by yon tuft of trees,<br/>

Manned with three hundred men, as I have heard.<br/>

And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour,<br/>

None else of name and noble estimate.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Ross</span> and

<span class="charname">Willoughby</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,<br/>

Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues<br/>

A banished traitor. All my treasury<br/>

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched,<br/>

Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;<br/>

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,<br/>

Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Berkeley</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BERKELEY.<br/>

My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

My lord, my answer is&amp;mdash;to &amp;ldquo;Lancaster&amp;rdquo;,<br/>

And I am come to seek that name in England;<br/>

And I must find that title in your tongue<br/>

Before I make reply to aught you say.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BERKELEY.<br/>

Mistake me not, my lord, 'tis not my meaning<br/>

To rase one title of your honour out.<br/>

To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,<br/>

From the most gracious regent of this land,<br/>

The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on<br/>

To take advantage of the absent time,<br/>

And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">York,</span> attended.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

I shall not need transport my words by you.<br/>

Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Kneels.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,<br/>

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

My gracious uncle&amp;mdash;

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Tut, tut!<br/>

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.<br/>

I am no traitor's uncle, and that word &amp;ldquo;grace&amp;rdquo;<br/>

In an ungracious mouth is but profane.<br/>

Why have those banished and forbidden legs<br/>

Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?<br/>

But then more why: why have they dared to march<br/>

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,<br/>

Frighting her pale-faced villages with war<br/>

And ostentation of despised arms?<br/>

Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?<br/>

Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,<br/>

And in my loyal bosom lies his power.<br/>

Were I but now lord of such hot youth<br/>

As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself<br/>

Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,<br/>

From forth the ranks of many thousand French,<br/>

O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,<br/>

Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee<br/>

And minister correction to thy fault!

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

My gracious uncle, let me know my fault.<br/>

On what condition stands it and wherein?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Even in condition of the worst degree,<br/>

In gross rebellion and detested treason.<br/>

Thou art a banished man, and here art come,<br/>

Before the expiration of thy time,<br/>

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

As I was banished, I was banished Hereford;<br/>

But as I come, I come for Lancaster.<br/>

And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace<br/>

Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.<br/>

You are my father, for methinks in you<br/>

I see old Gaunt alive. O then, my father,<br/>

Will you permit that I shall stand condemned<br/>

A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties<br/>

Plucked from my arms perforce and given away<br/>

To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?<br/>

If that my cousin king be King in England,<br/>

It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.<br/>

You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin.<br/>

Had you first died and he been thus trod down,<br/>

He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father<br/>

To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.<br/>

I am denied to sue my livery here,<br/>

And yet my letters patents give me leave.<br/>

My father's goods are all distrained and sold,<br/>

And these, and all, are all amiss employed.<br/>

What would you have me do? I am a subject,<br/>

And challenge law. Attorneys are denied me,<br/>

And therefore personally I lay my claim<br/>

To my inheritance of free descent.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

The noble Duke hath been too much abused.

</p>

<p class="drama">

ROSS.<br/>

It stands your Grace upon to do him right.

</p>

<p class="drama">

WILLOUGHBY.<br/>

Base men by his endowments are made great.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

My lords of England, let me tell you this:<br/>

I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs<br/>

And laboured all I could to do him right.<br/>

But in this kind to come, in braving arms,<br/>

Be his own carver and cut out his way<br/>

To find out right with wrong, it may not be.<br/>

And you that do abet him in this kind<br/>

Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is<br/>

But for his own; and for the right of that<br/>

We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;<br/>

And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.<br/>

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,<br/>

Because my power is weak and all ill-left;<br/>

But if I could, by Him that gave me life,<br/>

I would attach you all and make you stoop<br/>

Unto the sovereign mercy of the King.<br/>

But since I cannot, be it known unto you<br/>

I do remain as neuter. So fare you well&amp;mdash;<br/>

Unless you please to enter in the castle<br/>

And there repose you for this night.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

An offer, uncle, that we will accept;<br/>

But we must win your Grace to go with us<br/>

To Bristol Castle, which they say is held<br/>

By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,<br/>

The caterpillars of the commonwealth,<br/>

Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause,<br/>

For I am loath to break our country's laws.<br/>

Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.<br/>

Things past redress are now with me past care.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneII_28.4"> <b>SCENE IV. A camp in Wales.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Earl of Salisbury</span> and a

Welsh <span class="charname">Captain</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

CAPTAIN.<br/>

My Lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days<br/>

And hardly kept our countrymen together,<br/>

And yet we hear no tidings from the King.<br/>

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SALISBURY.<br/>

Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman.<br/>

The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

</p>

<p class="drama">

CAPTAIN.<br/>

'Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay.<br/>

The bay trees in our country are all withered,<br/>

And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;<br/>

The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,<br/>

And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change;<br/>

Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,<br/>

The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,<br/>

The other to enjoy by rage and war.<br/>

These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.<br/>

Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,<br/>

As well assured Richard their king is dead.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

SALISBURY.<br/>

Ah, Richard! With the eyes of heavy mind<br/>

I see thy glory like a shooting star<br/>

Fall to the base earth from the firmament.<br/>

Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,<br/>

Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest.<br/>

Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes,<br/>

And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<h2><b>ACT III</b></h2>

<h3 id="sceneIII_28.1"> <b>SCENE I. Bristol. Bolingbroke's camp.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Bolingbroke, York,

Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, Ross;</span> Officers behind, with

<span class="charname">Bushy</span> and <span class="charname">Green,</span>

prisoners.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Bring forth these men.<br/>

Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls&amp;mdash;<br/>

Since presently your souls must part your bodies&amp;mdash;<br/>

With too much urging your pernicious lives,<br/>

For 'twere no charity; yet to wash your blood<br/>

From off my hands, here in the view of men<br/>

I will unfold some causes of your deaths:<br/>

You have misled a prince, a royal king,<br/>

A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,<br/>

By you unhappied and disfigured clean.<br/>

You have in manner with your sinful hours<br/>

Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,<br/>

Broke the possession of a royal bed,<br/>

And stained the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks<br/>

With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.<br/>

Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,<br/>

Near to the King in blood, and near in love<br/>

Till you did make him misinterpret me,<br/>

Have stooped my neck under your injuries<br/>

And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,<br/>

Eating the bitter bread of banishment,<br/>

Whilst you have fed upon my signories,<br/>

Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods,<br/>

From my own windows torn my household coat,<br/>

Rased out my imprese, leaving me no sign<br/>

Save men's opinions and my living blood<br/>

To show the world I am a gentleman.<br/>

This and much more, much more than twice all this,<br/>

Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over<br/>

To execution and the hand of death.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BUSHY.<br/>

More welcome is the stroke of death to me<br/>

Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GREEN.<br/>

My comfort is that heaven will take our souls<br/>

And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt <span class="charname">Northumberland</span> and Others, with

<span class="charname">Bushy</span> and <span class="charname">Green</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;<br/>

For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated.<br/>

Tell her I send to her my kind commends;<br/>

Take special care my greetings be delivered.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

A gentleman of mine I have dispatched<br/>

With letters of your love to her at large.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,<br/>

To fight with Glendower and his complices.<br/>

A while to work, and after holiday.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneIII_28.2"> <b>SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter <span class="charname">King

Richard</span>, the <span class="charname">Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle</span>

and soldiers.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air<br/>

After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy<br/>

To stand upon my kingdom once again.<br/>

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,<br/>

Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs.<br/>

As a long-parted mother with her child<br/>

Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,<br/>

So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,<br/>

And do thee favours with my royal hands.<br/>

Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,<br/>

Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,<br/>

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,<br/>

And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,<br/>

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet<br/>

Which with usurping steps do trample thee.<br/>

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;<br/>

And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,<br/>

Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder<br/>

Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch<br/>

Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.<br/>

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.<br/>

This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones<br/>

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king<br/>

Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

</p>

<p class="drama">

CARLISLE.<br/>

Fear not, my lord. That Power that made you king<br/>

Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.<br/>

The means that heaven yields must be embraced<br/>

And not neglected; else if heaven would,<br/>

And we will not. Heaven's offer we refuse,<br/>

The proffered means of succour and redress.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,<br/>

Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,<br/>

Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Discomfortable cousin, know'st thou not<br/>

That when the searching eye of heaven is hid<br/>

Behind the globe that lights the lower world,<br/>

Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen<br/>

In murders and in outrage boldly here;<br/>

But when from under this terrestrial ball<br/>

He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines<br/>

And darts his light through every guilty hole,<br/>

Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,<br/>

The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs,<br/>

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?<br/>

So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,<br/>

Who all this while hath revelled in the night<br/>

Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes,<br/>

Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,<br/>

His treasons will sit blushing in his face,<br/>

Not able to endure the sight of day,<br/>

But self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.<br/>

Not all the water in the rough rude sea<br/>

Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;<br/>

The breath of worldly men cannot depose<br/>

The deputy elected by the Lord.<br/>

For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressed<br/>

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,<br/>

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay<br/>

A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,<br/>

Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Salisbury</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?</p>

<p class="drama">

SALISBURY.<br/>

Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,<br/>

Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue<br/>

And bids me speak of nothing but despair.<br/>

One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,<br/>

Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.<br/>

O, call back yesterday, bid time return,<br/>

And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!<br/>

Today, today, unhappy day, too late,<br/>

O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;<br/>

For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,<br/>

Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Comfort, my liege. Why looks your Grace so pale?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

But now, the blood of twenty thousand men<br/>

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;<br/>

And till so much blood thither come again<br/>

Have I not reason to look pale and dead?<br/>

All souls that will be safe, fly from my side,<br/>

For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

I had forgot myself. Am I not king?<br/>

Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest!<br/>

Is not the King's name twenty thousand names?<br/>

Arm, arm, my name! A puny subject strikes<br/>

At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,<br/>

Ye favourites of a king. Are we not high?<br/>

High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York<br/>

Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Sir Stephen Scroop</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

SCROOP.<br/>

More health and happiness betide my liege<br/>

Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Mine ear is open and my heart prepared.<br/>

The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.<br/>

Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care,<br/>

And what loss is it to be rid of care?<br/>

Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?<br/>

Greater he shall not be. If he serve God,<br/>

We'll serve Him too, and be his fellow so.<br/>

Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend.<br/>

They break their faith to God as well as us.<br/>

Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay.<br/>

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SCROOP.<br/>

Glad am I that your highness is so armed<br/>

To bear the tidings of calamity.<br/>

Like an unseasonable stormy day<br/>

Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores<br/>

As if the world were all dissolved to tears,<br/>

So high above his limits swells the rage<br/>

Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land<br/>

With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.<br/>

Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalps<br/>

Against thy majesty; boys with women's voices<br/>

Strive to speak big and clap their female joints<br/>

In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;<br/>

Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows<br/>

Of double-fatal yew against thy state;<br/>

Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills<br/>

Against thy seat. Both young and old rebel,<br/>

And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.<br/>

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?<br/>

What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?<br/>

That they have let the dangerous enemy<br/>

Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?<br/>

If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.<br/>

I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SCROOP.<br/>

Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

O villains, vipers, damned without redemption!<br/>

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!<br/>

Snakes, in my heart-blood warmed, that sting my heart!<br/>

Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!<br/>

Would they make peace? Terrible hell<br/>

Make war upon their spotted souls for this!

</p>

<p class="drama">

SCROOP.<br/>

Sweet love, I see, changing his property,<br/>

Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.<br/>

Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is made<br/>

With heads, and not with hands. Those whom you curse<br/>

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound<br/>

And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

</p>

<p class="drama">

SCROOP.<br/>

Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Where is the Duke my father with his power?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

No matter where. Of comfort no man speak!<br/>

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,<br/>

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes<br/>

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.<br/>

Let's choose executors and talk of wills.<br/>

And yet not so, for what can we bequeath<br/>

Save our deposed bodies to the ground?<br/>

Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,<br/>

And nothing can we call our own but death<br/>

And that small model of the barren earth<br/>

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.<br/>

For God's sake let us sit upon the ground<br/>

And tell sad stories of the death of kings&amp;mdash;<br/>

How some have been deposed, some slain in war,<br/>

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,<br/>

Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed,<br/>

All murdered. For within the hollow crown<br/>

That rounds the mortal temples of a king<br/>

Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,<br/>

Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,<br/>

Allowing him a breath, a little scene,<br/>

To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks,<br/>

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,<br/>

As if this flesh which walls about our life<br/>

Were brass impregnable; and, humoured thus,<br/>

Comes at the last, and with a little pin<br/>

Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!<br/>

Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood<br/>

With solemn reverence. Throw away respect,<br/>

Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,<br/>

For you have but mistook me all this while.<br/>

I live with bread like you, feel want,<br/>

Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus,<br/>

How can you say to me I am a king?

</p>

<p class="drama">

CARLISLE.<br/>

My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,<br/>

But presently prevent the ways to wail.<br/>

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,<br/>

Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,<br/>

And so your follies fight against yourself.<br/>

Fear and be slain&amp;mdash;no worse can come to fight;<br/>

And fight and die is death destroying death,<br/>

Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

My father hath a power. Enquire of him,<br/>

And learn to make a body of a limb.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come<br/>

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.<br/>

This ague fit of fear is overblown;<br/>

An easy task it is to win our own.<br/>

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?<br/>

Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SCROOP.<br/>

Men judge by the complexion of the sky<br/>

The state in inclination of the day;<br/>

So may you by my dull and heavy eye.<br/>

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.<br/>

I play the torturer by small and small<br/>

To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:<br/>

Your uncle York is joined with Bolingbroke,<br/>

And all your northern castles yielded up,<br/>

And all your southern gentlemen in arms<br/>

Upon his party.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Thou hast said enough.<br/>

[<i>To Aumerle</i>.] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth<br/>

Of that sweet way I was in to despair.<br/>

What say you now? What comfort have we now?<br/>

By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly<br/>

That bids me be of comfort any more.<br/>

Go to Flint Castle. There I'll pine away;<br/>

A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.<br/>

That power I have, discharge, and let them go<br/>

To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,<br/>

For I have none. Let no man speak again<br/>

To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

My liege, one word.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

He does me double wrong<br/>

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.<br/>

Discharge my followers. Let them hence away,<br/>

From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneIII_28.3"> <b>SCENE III. Wales. Before Flint Castle.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter, with drum and colours, <span class="charname">Bolingbroke</span> and Forces;

<span class="charname">Northumberland</span> and Others.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

So that by this intelligence we learn<br/>

The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury<br/>

Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed<br/>

With some few private friends upon this coast.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

The news is very fair and good, my lord:<br/>

Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

It would beseem the Lord Northumberland<br/>

To say &amp;ldquo;King Richard&amp;rdquo;. Alack the heavy day<br/>

When such a sacred king should hide his head!

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief<br/>

Left I his title out.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

The time hath been,<br/>

Would you have been so brief with him, he would<br/>

Have been so brief with you to shorten you,<br/>

For taking so the head, your whole head's length.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Take not, good cousin, further than you should,<br/>

Lest you mistake. The heavens are o'er our heads.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself<br/>

Against their will. But who comes here?

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Harry Percy</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

The castle royally is manned, my lord,<br/>

Against thy entrance.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Royally!<br/>

Why, it contains no king?

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

Yes, my good lord,<br/>

It doth contain a king. King Richard lies<br/>

Within the limits of yon lime and stone,<br/>

And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,<br/>

Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman<br/>

Of holy reverence&amp;mdash;who, I cannot learn.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

[<i>To Northumberland</i>.] Noble lord,<br/>

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;<br/>

Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley<br/>

Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver:<br/>

Henry Bolingbroke<br/>

On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand<br/>

And sends allegiance and true faith of heart<br/>

To his most royal person, hither come<br/>

Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,<br/>

Provided that my banishment repealed<br/>

And lands restored again be freely granted.<br/>

If not, I'll use the advantage of my power<br/>

And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood<br/>

Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen&amp;mdash;<br/>

The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke<br/>

It is such crimson tempest should bedrench<br/>

The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,<br/>

My stooping duty tenderly shall show.<br/>

Go signify as much, while here we march<br/>

Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.<br/>

Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,<br/>

That from this castle's tottered battlements<br/>

Our fair appointments may be well perused.<br/>

Methinks King Richard and myself should meet<br/>

With no less terror than the elements<br/>

Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock<br/>

At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.<br/>

Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;<br/>

The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain<br/>

My waters&amp;mdash;on the earth, and not on him.<br/>

March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> A parley sounded, and answered by a trumpet within.

Flourish. Enter on the Walls, the <span class="charname">King,</span> the

<span class="charname">Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop</span> and

<span class="charname">Salisbury</span>

</p>

<p class="drama">

See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,<br/>

As doth the blushing discontented sun<br/>

From out the fiery portal of the east,<br/>

When he perceives the envious clouds are bent<br/>

To dim his glory and to stain the track<br/>

Of his bright passage to the occident.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,<br/>

As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth<br/>

Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe<br/>

That any harm should stain so fair a show!

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

[<i>To Northumberland.</i>] We are amazed, and thus long have we stood<br/>

To watch the fearful bending of thy knee<br/>

Because we thought ourself thy lawful king.<br/>

And if we be, how dare thy joints forget<br/>

To pay their awful duty to our presence?<br/>

If we be not, show us the hand of God<br/>

That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;<br/>

For well we know no hand of blood and bone<br/>

Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,<br/>

Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.<br/>

And though you think that all, as you have done,<br/>

Have torn their souls by turning them from us,<br/>

And we are barren and bereft of friends,<br/>

Yet know: my master, God omnipotent,<br/>

Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf<br/>

Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike<br/>

Your children yet unborn and unbegot,<br/>

That lift your vassal hands against my head<br/>

And threat the glory of my precious crown.<br/>

Tell Bolingbroke&amp;mdash;for yon methinks he stands&amp;mdash;<br/>

That every stride he makes upon my land<br/>

Is dangerous treason. He is come to open<br/>

The purple testament of bleeding war;<br/>

But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,<br/>

Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons<br/>

Shall ill become the flower of England's face,<br/>

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace<br/>

To scarlet indignation, and bedew<br/>

Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King<br/>

Should so with civil and uncivil arms<br/>

Be rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,<br/>

Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;<br/>

And by the honourable tomb he swears<br/>

That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones,<br/>

And by the royalties of both your bloods,<br/>

Currents that spring from one most gracious head,<br/>

And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,<br/>

And by the worth and honour of himself,<br/>

Comprising all that may be sworn or said,<br/>

His coming hither hath no further scope<br/>

Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg<br/>

Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;<br/>

Which on thy royal party granted once,<br/>

His glittering arms he will commend to rust,<br/>

His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart<br/>

To faithful service of your Majesty.<br/>

This swears he, as he is a prince and just;<br/>

And as I am a gentleman I credit him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Northumberland, say, thus the King returns:<br/>

His noble cousin is right welcome hither,<br/>

And all the number of his fair demands<br/>

Shall be accomplished without contradiction.<br/>

With all the gracious utterance thou hast,<br/>

Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i><span class="charname">Northumberland</span> returns to

<span class="charname">Bolingbroke</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

[<i>To Aumerle</i>.] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,<br/>

To look so poorly and to speak so fair?<br/>

Shall we call back Northumberland and send<br/>

Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

No, good my lord. Let's fight with gentle words<br/>

Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

O God, O God, that e'er this tongue of mine<br/>

That laid the sentence of dread banishment<br/>

On yon proud man should take it off again<br/>

With words of sooth! O, that I were as great<br/>

As is my grief, or lesser than my name,<br/>

Or that I could forget what I have been,<br/>

Or not remember what I must be now.<br/>

Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat,<br/>

Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

What must the King do now? Must he submit?<br/>

The King shall do it. Must he be deposed?<br/>

The King shall be contented. Must he lose<br/>

The name of King? I' God's name, let it go.<br/>

I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,<br/>

My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,<br/>

My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,<br/>

My figured goblets for a dish of wood,<br/>

My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff,<br/>

My subjects for a pair of carved saints,<br/>

And my large kingdom for a little grave,<br/>

A little, little grave, an obscure grave;<br/>

Or I'll be buried in the King's highway,<br/>

Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet<br/>

May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;<br/>

For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,<br/>

And, buried once, why not upon my head?<br/>

Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!<br/>

We'll make foul weather with despised tears;<br/>

Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn<br/>

And make a dearth in this revolting land.<br/>

Or shall we play the wantons with our woes<br/>

And make some pretty match with shedding tears?<br/>

As thus, to drop them still upon one place<br/>

Till they have fretted us a pair of graves<br/>

Within the earth; and, therein laid, there lies<br/>

Two kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.<br/>

Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see<br/>

I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.<br/>

Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,<br/>

What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty<br/>

Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?<br/>

You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

My lord, in the base court he doth attend<br/>

To speak with you. May it please you to come down?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Down, down I come, like glist'ring Phaëthon,<br/>

Wanting the manage of unruly jades.<br/>

In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,<br/>

To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.<br/>

In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!<br/>

For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt from above.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

What says his Majesty?

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Sorrow and grief of heart<br/>

Makes him speak fondly like a frantic man.<br/>

Yet he is come.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">King Richard</span> and his attendants.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Stand all apart,<br/>

And show fair duty to his Majesty. [<i>Kneeling</i>.]<br/>

My gracious lord.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee<br/>

To make the base earth proud with kissing it.<br/>

Me rather had my heart might feel your love<br/>

Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.<br/>

Up, cousin, up. Your heart is up, I know,<br/>

Thus high at least, although your knee be low.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,<br/>

As my true service shall deserve your love.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Well you deserve. They well deserve to have<br/>

That know the strong'st and surest way to get.<br/>

Uncle, give me your hands. Nay, dry your eyes.<br/>

Tears show their love, but want their remedies.<br/>

Cousin, I am too young to be your father,<br/>

Though you are old enough to be my heir.<br/>

What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;<br/>

For do we must what force will have us do.<br/>

Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Yea, my good lord.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Then I must not say no.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Flourish. Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneIII_28.4"> <b>SCENE IV. Langley. The Duke of York's garden.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter the <span class="charname">Queen</span> and two Ladies.</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

What sport shall we devise here in this garden<br/>

To drive away the heavy thought of care?

</p>

<p class="drama">

LADY.<br/>

Madam, we'll play at bowls.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs<br/>

And that my fortune runs against the bias.

</p>

<p class="drama">

LADY.<br/>

Madam, we'll dance.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

My legs can keep no measure in delight<br/>

When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief.<br/>

Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.

</p>

<p class="drama">

LADY.<br/>

Madam, we'll tell tales.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Of sorrow or of joy?

</p>

<p class="drama">

LADY.<br/>

Of either, madam.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Of neither, girl.<br/>

For if of joy, being altogether wanting,<br/>

It doth remember me the more of sorrow;<br/>

Or if of grief, being altogether had,<br/>

It adds more sorrow to my want of joy.<br/>

For what I have I need not to repeat,<br/>

And what I want it boots not to complain.

</p>

<p class="drama">

LADY.<br/>

Madam, I'll sing.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

'Tis well that thou hast cause;<br/>

But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.

</p>

<p class="drama">

LADY.<br/>

I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

And I could sing, would weeping do me good,<br/>

And never borrow any tear of thee.<br/>

But stay, here come the gardeners.<br/>

Let's step into the shadow of these trees.<br/>

My wretchedness unto a row of pins,<br/>

They will talk of state, for everyone doth so<br/>

Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i><span class="charname">Queen</span> and

<span class="charname">Ladies</span> retire.</i>]</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter a <span class="charname">Gardener</span> and two

<span class="charname">Servants</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

GARDENER.<br/>

Go, bind thou up young dangling apricocks,<br/>

Which, like unruly children, make their sire<br/>

Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.<br/>

Give some supportance to the bending twigs.<br/>

Go thou, and like an executioner<br/>

Cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays<br/>

That look too lofty in our commonwealth.<br/>

All must be even in our government.<br/>

You thus employed, I will go root away<br/>

The noisome weeds which without profit suck<br/>

The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVANT.<br/>

Why should we in the compass of a pale<br/>

Keep law and form and due proportion,<br/>

Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,<br/>

When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,<br/>

Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,<br/>

Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,<br/>

Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs<br/>

Swarming with caterpillars?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GARDENER.<br/>

Hold thy peace.<br/>

He that hath suffered this disordered spring<br/>

Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf.<br/>

The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,<br/>

That seemed in eating him to hold him up,<br/>

Are plucked up, root and all, by Bolingbroke&amp;mdash;<br/>

I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVANT.<br/>

What, are they dead?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GARDENER.<br/>

They are. And Bolingbroke<br/>

Hath seized the wasteful King. O, what pity is it<br/>

That he had not so trimmed and dressed his land<br/>

As we this garden! We at time of year<br/>

Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,<br/>

Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,<br/>

With too much riches it confound itself.<br/>

Had he done so to great and growing men,<br/>

They might have lived to bear and he to taste<br/>

Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches<br/>

We lop away, that bearing boughs may live.<br/>

Had he done so, himself had home the crown,<br/>

Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVANT.<br/>

What, think you the King shall be deposed?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GARDENER.<br/>

Depressed he is already, and deposed<br/>

'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night<br/>

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's<br/>

That tell black tidings.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

O, I am pressed to death through want of speaking!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Coming forward.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,<br/>

How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?<br/>

What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee<br/>

To make a second fall of cursed man?<br/>

Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?<br/>

Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,<br/>

Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,<br/>

Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch!

</p>

<p class="drama">

GARDENER.<br/>

Pardon me, madam. Little joy have I<br/>

To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.<br/>

King Richard, he is in the mighty hold<br/>

Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weighed.<br/>

In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,<br/>

And some few vanities that make him light;<br/>

But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,<br/>

Besides himself, are all the English peers,<br/>

And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.<br/>

Post you to London, and you will find it so.<br/>

I speak no more than everyone doth know.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,<br/>

Doth not thy embassage belong to me,<br/>

And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest<br/>

To serve me last that I may longest keep<br/>

Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go<br/>

To meet at London London's king in woe.<br/>

What, was I born to this, that my sad look<br/>

Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?<br/>

Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,<br/>

Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt <span class="charname">Queen</span> and

<span class="charname">Ladies</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

GARDENER.<br/>

Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,<br/>

I would my skill were subject to thy curse.<br/>

Here did she fall a tear. Here in this place<br/>

I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.<br/>

Rue even for ruth here shortly shall be seen<br/>

In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h2><b>ACT IV</b></h2>

<h3 id="sceneIV_28.1"> <b>SCENE I. Westminster Hall.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> The Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne; the

Lords temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter <span class="charname">Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey,

Northumberland, Harry Percy, Fitzwater,</span> another Lord, the

<span class="charname">Bishop of Carlisle,</span> the <span class="charname">Abbot of Westminster</span>

and attendants.</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Call forth Bagot.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter Officers with <span class="charname">Bagot</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind,<br/>

What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,<br/>

Who wrought it with the King, and who performed<br/>

The bloody office of his timeless end.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BAGOT.<br/>

Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BAGOT.<br/>

My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue<br/>

Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered.<br/>

In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted,<br/>

I heard you say &amp;ldquo;Is not my arm of length,<br/>

That reacheth from the restful English Court<br/>

As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?&amp;rdquo;<br/>

Amongst much other talk that very time<br/>

I heard you say that you had rather refuse<br/>

The offer of an hundred thousand crowns<br/>

Than Bolingbroke's return to England,<br/>

Adding withal, how blest this land would be<br/>

In this your cousin's death.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Princes and noble lords,<br/>

What answer shall I make to this base man?<br/>

Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars<br/>

On equal terms to give him chastisement?<br/>

Either I must, or have mine honour soiled<br/>

With the attainder of his slanderous lips.<br/>

There is my gage, the manual seal of death<br/>

That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,<br/>

And will maintain what thou hast said is false<br/>

In thy heart-blood, though being all too base<br/>

To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Bagot, forbear. Thou shalt not take it up.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Excepting one, I would he were the best<br/>

In all this presence that hath moved me so.

</p>

<p class="drama">

FITZWATER.<br/>

If that thy valour stand on sympathy,<br/>

There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.<br/>

By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st,<br/>

I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,<br/>

That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death.<br/>

If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest!<br/>

And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,<br/>

Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day.

</p>

<p class="drama">

FITZWATER.<br/>

Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Fitzwater, thou art damned to hell for this.

</p>

<p class="drama">

HARRY PERCY.<br/>

Aumerle, thou liest. His honour is as true<br/>

In this appeal as thou art an unjust;<br/>

And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,<br/>

To prove it on thee to the extremest point<br/>

Of mortal breathing. Seize it if thou dar'st.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

And if I do not, may my hands rot off<br/>

And never brandish more revengeful steel<br/>

Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

</p>

<p class="drama">

ANOTHER LORD.<br/>

I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle,<br/>

And spur thee on with full as many lies<br/>

As may be holloaed in thy treacherous ear<br/>

From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn.<br/>

Engage it to the trial if thou dar'st.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Who sets me else? By heaven, I'll throw at all.<br/>

I have a thousand spirits in one breast<br/>

To answer twenty thousand such as you.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SURREY.<br/>

My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well<br/>

The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

</p>

<p class="drama">

FITZWATER.<br/>

'Tis very true. You were in presence then,<br/>

And you can witness with me this is true.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SURREY.<br/>

As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.

</p>

<p class="drama">

FITZWATER.<br/>

Surrey, thou liest.

</p>

<p class="drama">

SURREY.<br/>

Dishonourable boy!<br/>

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword<br/>

That it shall render vengeance and revenge<br/>

Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie<br/>

In earth as quiet as thy father's skull.<br/>

In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn.<br/>

Engage it to the trial if thou dar'st.

</p>

<p class="drama">

FITZWATER.<br/>

How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!<br/>

If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,<br/>

I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness<br/>

And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,<br/>

And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith<br/>

To tie thee to my strong correction.<br/>

As I intend to thrive in this new world,<br/>

Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.<br/>

Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say<br/>

That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men<br/>

To execute the noble duke at Calais.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Some honest Christian trust me with a gage.<br/>

That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this,<br/>

If he may be repealed to try his honour.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

These differences shall all rest under gage<br/>

Till Norfolk be repealed. Repealed he shall be,<br/>

And, though mine enemy, restored again<br/>

To all his lands and signories. When he is returned,<br/>

Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

</p>

<p class="drama">

CARLISLE.<br/>

That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.<br/>

Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought<br/>

For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,<br/>

Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross<br/>

Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;<br/>

And, toiled with works of war, retired himself<br/>

To Italy, and there at Venice gave<br/>

His body to that pleasant country's earth<br/>

And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,<br/>

Under whose colours he had fought so long.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?

</p>

<p class="drama">

CARLISLE.<br/>

As surely as I live, my lord.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom<br/>

Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,<br/>

Your differences shall all rest under gage<br/>

Till we assign you to your days of trial.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">York,</span> attended.</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee<br/>

From plume-plucked Richard, who with willing soul<br/>

Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields<br/>

To the possession of thy royal hand.<br/>

Ascend his throne, descending now from him,<br/>

And long live Henry, of that name the fourth!

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.

</p>

<p class="drama">

CARLISLE.<br/>

Marry, God forbid!<br/>

Worst in this royal presence may I speak,<br/>

Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.<br/>

Would God that any in this noble presence<br/>

Were enough noble to be upright judge<br/>

Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would<br/>

Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.<br/>

What subject can give sentence on his king?<br/>

And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?<br/>

Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,<br/>

Although apparent guilt be seen in them;<br/>

And shall the figure of God's majesty,<br/>

His captain, steward, deputy elect,<br/>

Anointed, crowned, planted many years,<br/>

Be judged by subject and inferior breath,<br/>

And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,<br/>

That in a Christian climate souls refined<br/>

Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!<br/>

I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,<br/>

Stirred up by God, thus boldly for his king.<br/>

My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,<br/>

Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king.<br/>

And if you crown him, let me prophesy<br/>

The blood of English shall manure the ground<br/>

And future ages groan for this foul act.<br/>

Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,<br/>

And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars<br/>

Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound.<br/>

Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny<br/>

Shall here inhabit, and this land be called<br/>

The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.<br/>

O, if you raise this house against this house,<br/>

It will the woefullest division prove<br/>

That ever fell upon this cursed earth.<br/>

Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,<br/>

Lest child, child's children, cry against you, &amp;ldquo;woe!&amp;rdquo;

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,<br/>

Of capital treason we arrest you here.<br/>

My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge<br/>

To keep him safely till his day of trial.<br/>

May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Fetch hither Richard, that in common view<br/>

He may surrender. So we shall proceed<br/>

Without suspicion.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

I will be his conduct.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Lords, you that here are under our arrest,<br/>

Procure your sureties for your days of answer.<br/>

Little are we beholding to your love,<br/>

And little looked for at your helping hands.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">York</span> with

<span class="charname">King Richard</span> and Officers bearing the Crown,

&amp;amp;c.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Alack, why am I sent for to a king<br/>

Before I have shook off the regal thoughts<br/>

Wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learned<br/>

To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.<br/>

Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me<br/>

To this submission. Yet I well remember<br/>

The favours of these men. Were they not mine?<br/>

Did they not sometime cry &amp;ldquo;All hail!&amp;rdquo; to me?<br/>

So Judas did to Christ, but He in twelve,<br/>

Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.<br/>

God save the King! Will no man say, &amp;ldquo;Amen&amp;rdquo;?<br/>

Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen.<br/>

God save the King, although I be not he,<br/>

And yet, Amen, if heaven do think him me.<br/>

To do what service am I sent for hither?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

To do that office of thine own good will<br/>

Which tired majesty did make thee offer:<br/>

The resignation of thy state and crown<br/>

To Henry Bolingbroke.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.<br/>

Here, cousin,<br/>

On this side my hand, and on that side thine.<br/>

Now is this golden crown like a deep well<br/>

That owes two buckets, filling one another,<br/>

The emptier ever dancing in the air,<br/>

The other down, unseen, and full of water.<br/>

That bucket down and full of tears am I,<br/>

Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

I thought you had been willing to resign.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

My crown I am, but still my griefs are mine.<br/>

You may my glories and my state depose,<br/>

But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.<br/>

My care is loss of care, by old care done;<br/>

Your care is gain of care, by new care won.<br/>

The cares I give I have, though given away;<br/>

They 'tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Are you contented to resign the crown?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be.<br/>

Therefore no &amp;ldquo;no&amp;rdquo;, for I resign to thee.<br/>

Now mark me how I will undo myself:<br/>

I give this heavy weight from off my head,<br/>

And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,<br/>

The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;<br/>

With mine own tears I wash away my balm,<br/>

With mine own hands I give away my crown,<br/>

With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,<br/>

With mine own breath release all duteous oaths.<br/>

All pomp and majesty I do forswear;<br/>

My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;<br/>

My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.<br/>

God pardon all oaths that are broke to me;<br/>

God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee.<br/>

Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,<br/>

And thou with all pleased that hast all achieved.<br/>

Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,<br/>

And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!<br/>

God save King Henry, unkinged Richard says,<br/>

And send him many years of sunshine days!<br/>

What more remains?

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

[<i>Offering a paper</i>.] No more, but that you read<br/>

These accusations, and these grievous crimes<br/>

Committed by your person and your followers<br/>

Against the state and profit of this land;<br/>

That, by confessing them, the souls of men<br/>

May deem that you are worthily deposed.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Must I do so? And must I ravel out<br/>

My weaved-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,<br/>

If thy offences were upon record,<br/>

Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop<br/>

To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,<br/>

There shouldst thou find one heinous article<br/>

Containing the deposing of a king<br/>

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,<br/>

Marked with a blot, damned in the book of heaven.<br/>

Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me<br/>

Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,<br/>

Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,<br/>

Showing an outward pity, yet you Pilates<br/>

Have here delivered me to my sour cross,<br/>

And water cannot wash away your sin.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

My lord, dispatch. Read o'er these articles.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see:<br/>

And yet salt water blinds them not so much<br/>

But they can see a sort of traitors here.<br/>

Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,<br/>

I find myself a traitor with the rest;<br/>

For I have given here my soul's consent<br/>

T' undeck the pompous body of a king,<br/>

Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,<br/>

Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

My lord&amp;mdash;

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,<br/>

Nor no man's lord! I have no name, no title,<br/>

No, not that name was given me at the font,<br/>

But 'tis usurped. Alack the heavy day!<br/>

That I have worn so many winters out<br/>

And know not now what name to call myself.<br/>

O, that I were a mockery king of snow,<br/>

Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,<br/>

To melt myself away in water-drops!<br/>

Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,<br/>

An if my word be sterling yet in England,<br/>

Let it command a mirror hither straight,<br/>

That it may show me what a face I have,<br/>

Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Go, some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit an <span class="charname">Attendant</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell!

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

The commons will not then be satisfied.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

They shall be satisfied. I'll read enough<br/>

When I do see the very book indeed<br/>

Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Re-enter <span class="charname">Attendant</span> with glass.</p>

<p class="drama">

Give me that glass, and therein will I read.<br/>

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck<br/>

So many blows upon this face of mine<br/>

And made no deeper wounds? O flatt'ring glass,<br/>

Like to my followers in prosperity,<br/>

Thou dost beguile me. Was this face the face<br/>

That every day under his household roof<br/>

Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face<br/>

That like the sun did make beholders wink?<br/>

Is this the face which faced so many follies,<br/>

That was at last outfaced by Bolingbroke?<br/>

A brittle glory shineth in this face.<br/>

As brittle as the glory is the face!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Dashes the glass against the ground.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

For there it is, cracked in an hundred shivers.<br/>

Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,<br/>

How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed<br/>

The shadow of your face.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Say that again.<br/>

The shadow of my sorrow? Ha, let's see.<br/>

'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;<br/>

And these external manner of laments<br/>

Are merely shadows to the unseen grief<br/>

That swells with silence in the tortured soul.<br/>

There lies the substance. And I thank thee, king,<br/>

For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st<br/>

Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way<br/>

How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,<br/>

And then be gone and trouble you no more.<br/>

Shall I obtain it?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Name it, fair cousin.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

&amp;ldquo;Fair cousin&amp;rdquo;? I am greater than a king;<br/>

For when I was a king, my flatterers<br/>

Were then but subjects. Being now a subject,<br/>

I have a king here to my flatterer.<br/>

Being so great, I have no need to beg.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Yet ask.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

And shall I have?

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

You shall.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Then give me leave to go.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Whither?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

O, good! &amp;ldquo;Convey&amp;rdquo;? Conveyers are you all,<br/>

That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt <span class="charname">King Richard</span> and Guard.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

BOLINGBROKE.<br/>

On Wednesday next we solemnly set down<br/>

Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt all but the <span class="charname">Bishop of Carlisle,</span> the

<span class="charname">Abbot of Westminster</span> and <span class="charname">Aumerle</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

ABBOT.<br/>

A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

</p>

<p class="drama">

CARLISLE.<br/>

The woe's to come. The children yet unborn<br/>

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

You holy clergymen, is there no plot<br/>

To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

</p>

<p class="drama">

ABBOT.<br/>

My lord,<br/>

Before I freely speak my mind herein,<br/>

You shall not only take the sacrament<br/>

To bury mine intents, but also to effect<br/>

Whatever I shall happen to devise.<br/>

I see your brows are full of discontent,<br/>

Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.<br/>

Come home with me to supper. I will lay<br/>

A plot shall show us all a merry day.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h2><b>ACT V</b></h2>

<h3 id="sceneV_28.1"> <b>SCENE I. London. A street leading to the Tower.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter the <span class="charname">Queen</span> and ladies.</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

This way the King will come. This is the way<br/>

To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,<br/>

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord<br/>

Is doomed a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.<br/>

Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth<br/>

Have any resting for her true king's queen.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">King Richard</span> and Guard.</p>

<p class="drama">

But soft, but see, or rather do not see<br/>

My fair rose wither; yet look up, behold,<br/>

That you in pity may dissolve to dew<br/>

And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.<br/>

Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,<br/>

Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,<br/>

And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn,<br/>

Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee,<br/>

When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,<br/>

To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,<br/>

To think our former state a happy dream,<br/>

From which awaked, the truth of what we are<br/>

Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet,<br/>

To grim Necessity, and he and I<br/>

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,<br/>

And cloister thee in some religious house.<br/>

Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,<br/>

Which our profane hours here have thrown down.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

What, is my Richard both in shape and mind<br/>

Transformed and weakened! Hath Bolingbroke<br/>

Deposed thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?<br/>

The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw<br/>

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage<br/>

To be o'erpowered; and wilt thou, pupil-like,<br/>

Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,<br/>

And fawn on rage with base humility,<br/>

Which art a lion and the king of beasts?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts,<br/>

I had been still a happy king of men.<br/>

Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.<br/>

Think I am dead, and that even here thou tak'st,<br/>

As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.<br/>

In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire<br/>

With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales<br/>

Of woeful ages long ago betid;<br/>

And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs,<br/>

Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,<br/>

And send the hearers weeping to their beds.<br/>

For why, the senseless brands will sympathize<br/>

The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,<br/>

And in compassion weep the fire out;<br/>

And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,<br/>

For the deposing of a rightful king.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Northumberland,</span> attended.</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed.<br/>

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.<br/>

And, madam, there is order ta'en for you:<br/>

With all swift speed you must away to France.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal<br/>

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,<br/>

The time shall not be many hours of age<br/>

More than it is ere foul sin, gathering head,<br/>

Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think,<br/>

Though he divide the realm and give thee half<br/>

It is too little, helping him to all.<br/>

And he shall think that thou, which knowst the way<br/>

To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,<br/>

Being ne'er so little urged, another way<br/>

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.<br/>

The love of wicked men converts to fear,<br/>

That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both<br/>

To worthy danger and deserved death.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

My guilt be on my head, and there an end.<br/>

Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate<br/>

A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,<br/>

And then betwixt me and my married wife.<br/>

Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;<br/>

And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.<br/>

Part us, Northumberland: I towards the north,<br/>

Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;<br/>

My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp,<br/>

She came adorned hither like sweet May,<br/>

Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

And must we be divided? Must we part?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Banish us both, and send the King with me.

</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

That were some love, but little policy.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

So two, together weeping, make one woe.<br/>

Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;<br/>

Better far off than, near, be ne'er the near.<br/>

Go, count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.

</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

So longest way shall have the longest moans.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,<br/>

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.<br/>

Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,<br/>

Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.<br/>

One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;<br/>

Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>They kiss.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

QUEEN.<br/>

Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part<br/>

To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>They kiss again.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

So, now I have mine own again, be gone,<br/>

That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING RICHARD.<br/>

We make woe wanton with this fond delay:<br/>

Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneV_28.2"> <b>SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of York's palace.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">York</span> and his

<span class="charname">Duchess</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,<br/>

When weeping made you break the story off<br/>

Of our two cousins' coming into London.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Where did I leave?

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

At that sad stop, my lord,<br/>

Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops<br/>

Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,<br/>

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,<br/>

Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,<br/>

With slow but stately pace kept on his course,<br/>

Whilst all tongues cried &amp;ldquo;God save thee, Bolingbroke!&amp;rdquo;<br/>

You would have thought the very windows spake,<br/>

So many greedy looks of young and old<br/>

Through casements darted their desiring eyes<br/>

Upon his visage, and that all the walls<br/>

With painted imagery had said at once<br/>

&amp;ldquo;Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!&amp;rdquo;<br/>

Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,<br/>

Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,<br/>

Bespake them thus, &amp;ldquo;I thank you, countrymen.&amp;rdquo;<br/>

And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

As in a theatre the eyes of men<br/>

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,<br/>

Are idly bent on him that enters next,<br/>

Thinking his prattle to be tedious,<br/>

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes<br/>

Did scowl on gentle Richard. No man cried &amp;ldquo;God save him!&amp;rdquo;<br/>

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home,<br/>

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,<br/>

Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,<br/>

His face still combating with tears and smiles,<br/>

The badges of his grief and patience,<br/>

That had not God for some strong purpose, steeled<br/>

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,<br/>

And barbarism itself have pitied him.<br/>

But heaven hath a hand in these events,<br/>

To whose high will we bound our calm contents.<br/>

To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,<br/>

Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Aumerle</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Here comes my son Aumerle.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Aumerle that was;<br/>

But that is lost for being Richard's friend,<br/>

And, madam, you must call him Rutland now.<br/>

I am in Parliament pledge for his truth<br/>

And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now<br/>

That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.<br/>

God knows I had as lief be none as one.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,<br/>

Lest you be cropped before you come to prime.<br/>

What news from Oxford? Do these jousts and triumphs hold?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

For aught I know, my lord, they do.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

You will be there, I know.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

If God prevent not, I purpose so.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?<br/>

Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

My lord, 'tis nothing.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

No matter, then, who see it.<br/>

I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

I do beseech your Grace to pardon me.<br/>

It is a matter of small consequence,<br/>

Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.<br/>

I fear, I fear&amp;mdash;

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

What should you fear?<br/>

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into<br/>

For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Bound to himself? What doth he with a bond<br/>

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.<br/>

Boy, let me see the writing.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Snatches it and reads it.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

What is the matter, my lord?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Ho! who is within there?

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter a <span class="charname">Servant</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

Saddle my horse.<br/>

God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Why, what is it, my lord?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.<br/>

Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,<br/>

I will appeach the villain.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit <span class="charname">Servant</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

What is the matter?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Peace, foolish woman.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Good mother, be content. It is no more<br/>

Than my poor life must answer.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Thy life answer?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Re-enter <span class="charname">Servant</span> with boots.</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed.<br/>

[<i>To Servant</i>.]<br/>

Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit <span class="charname">Servant</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Give me my boots, I say.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Why, York, what wilt thou do?<br/>

Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?<br/>

Have we more sons? Or are we like to have?<br/>

Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?<br/>

And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age<br/>

And rob me of a happy mother's name?<br/>

Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Thou fond mad woman,<br/>

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?<br/>

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament<br/>

And interchangeably set down their hands<br/>

To kill the King at Oxford.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

He shall be none;<br/>

We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him?

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son,<br/>

I would appeach him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Hadst thou groaned for him<br/>

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.<br/>

But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect<br/>

That I have been disloyal to thy bed<br/>

And that he is a bastard, not thy son.<br/>

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.<br/>

He is as like thee as a man may be,<br/>

Not like to me, or any of my kin,<br/>

And yet I love him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Make way, unruly woman!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse!<br/>

Spur post, and get before him to the King,<br/>

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.<br/>

I'll not be long behind. Though I be old,<br/>

I doubt not but to ride as fast as York.<br/>

And never will I rise up from the ground<br/>

Till Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, be gone!

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneV_28.3"> <b>SCENE III. Windsor. A room in the Castle.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter Bolingbroke as <span class="charname">King</span>,

<span class="charname">Harry Percy</span> and other Lords.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?<br/>

'Tis full three months since I did see him last.<br/>

If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.<br/>

I would to God, my lords, he might be found.<br/>

Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,<br/>

For there, they say, he daily doth frequent<br/>

With unrestrained loose companions,<br/>

Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes<br/>

And beat our watch and rob our passengers,<br/>

While he, young wanton and effeminate boy,<br/>

Takes on the point of honour to support<br/>

So dissolute a crew.

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,<br/>

And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

And what said the gallant?

</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

His answer was he would unto the stews,<br/>

And from the common'st creature pluck a glove<br/>

And wear it as a favour, and with that<br/>

He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

As dissolute as desperate! Yet through both<br/>

I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years<br/>

May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Aumerle</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Where is the King?

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

What means our cousin that he stares and looks so wildly?

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

God save your Grace! I do beseech your majesty<br/>

To have some conference with your Grace alone.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt <span class="charname">Harry Percy</span> and

<span class="charname">Lords</span>.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

What is the matter with our cousin now?</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

[<i>Kneels</i>.] For ever may my knees grow to the earth,<br/>

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,<br/>

Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Intended or committed was this fault?<br/>

If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,<br/>

To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Then give me leave that I may turn the key,<br/>

That no man enter till my tale be done.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Have thy desire.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i><span class="charname">Aumerle</span> locks the door.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

[<i>Within</i>.] My liege, beware! Look to thyself!<br/>

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

[<i>Drawing</i>.] Villain, I'll make thee safe.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Stay thy revengeful hand. Thou hast no cause to fear.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

[<i>Within</i>.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king!<br/>

Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?<br/>

Open the door, or I will break it open.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i><span class="charname">King Henry</span>  unlocks the

door; and afterwards, relocks it.</i>]</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">York</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

What is the matter, uncle? Speak!<br/>

Recover breath. Tell us how near is danger,<br/>

That we may arm us to encounter it.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know<br/>

The treason that my haste forbids me show.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise passed.<br/>

I do repent me. Read not my name there;<br/>

My heart is not confederate with my hand.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.<br/>

I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king.<br/>

Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.<br/>

Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove<br/>

A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!<br/>

O loyal father of a treacherous son!<br/>

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain<br/>

From whence this stream through muddy passages<br/>

Hath held his current and defiled himself!<br/>

Thy overflow of good converts to bad,<br/>

And thy abundant goodness shall excuse<br/>

This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd,<br/>

And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,<br/>

As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.<br/>

Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,<br/>

Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies.<br/>

Thou kill'st me in his life: giving him breath,<br/>

The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

[<i>Within</i>.] What ho, my liege! For God's sake, let me in!

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

[<i>Within</i>.] A woman, and thine aunt, great king, 'tis I.<br/>

Speak with me, pity me, open the door!<br/>

A beggar begs that never begged before.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Our scene is altered from a serious thing,<br/>

And now changed to &amp;ldquo;The Beggar and the King.&amp;rdquo;<br/>

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.<br/>

I know she's come to pray for your foul sin.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Duchess</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

If thou do pardon whosoever pray,<br/>

More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.<br/>

This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound;<br/>

This let alone will all the rest confound.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

O King, believe not this hard-hearted man.<br/>

Love loving not itself none other can.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?<br/>

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Sweet York, be patient. [<i>Kneels</i>.] Hear me, gentle liege.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Rise up, good aunt.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Not yet, I thee beseech.<br/>

For ever will I walk upon my knees<br/>

And never see day that the happy sees,<br/>

Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy<br/>

By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

</p>

<p class="drama">

AUMERLE.<br/>

Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Kneels.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Against them both, my true joints bended be.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Kneels.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace!</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face.<br/>

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;<br/>

His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.<br/>

He prays but faintly and would be denied;<br/>

We pray with heart and soul and all beside:<br/>

His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;<br/>

Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.<br/>

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;<br/>

Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.<br/>

Our prayers do outpray his; then let them have<br/>

That mercy which true prayer ought to have.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Good aunt, stand up.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Nay, do not say &amp;ldquo;stand up&amp;rdquo;.<br/>

Say &amp;ldquo;pardon&amp;rdquo; first, and afterwards &amp;ldquo;stand up&amp;rdquo;.<br/>

An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,<br/>

&amp;ldquo;Pardon&amp;rdquo; should be the first word of thy speech.<br/>

I never longed to hear a word till now.<br/>

Say &amp;ldquo;pardon,&amp;rdquo; king; let pity teach thee how.<br/>

The word is short, but not so short as sweet;<br/>

No word like &amp;ldquo;pardon&amp;rdquo; for kings' mouths so meet.

</p>

<p class="drama">

YORK.<br/>

Speak it in French, King, say &amp;ldquo;pardonne moy.&amp;rdquo;

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?<br/>

Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,<br/>

That sets the word itself against the word!<br/>

Speak &amp;ldquo;pardon&amp;rdquo; as 'tis current in our land;<br/>

The chopping French we do not understand.<br/>

Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there,<br/>

Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,<br/>

That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,<br/>

Pity may move thee &amp;ldquo;pardon&amp;rdquo; to rehearse.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Good aunt, stand up.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

I do not sue to stand.<br/>

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

O, happy vantage of a kneeling knee!<br/>

Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again,<br/>

Twice saying &amp;ldquo;pardon&amp;rdquo; doth not pardon twain,<br/>

But makes one pardon strong.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

With all my heart<br/>

I pardon him.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

A god on earth thou art.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,<br/>

With all the rest of that consorted crew,<br/>

Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.<br/>

Good uncle, help to order several powers<br/>

To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are;<br/>

They shall not live within this world, I swear,<br/>

But I will have them, if I once know where.<br/>

Uncle, farewell, and cousin, adieu.<br/>

Your mother well hath prayed, and prove you true.

</p>

<p class="drama">

DUCHESS.<br/>

Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneV_28.4"> <b>SCENE IV. Another room in the Castle.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Exton</span> and a

<span class="charname">Servant</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

EXTON.<br/>

Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake:<br/>

&amp;ldquo;Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?&amp;rdquo;<br/>

Was it not so?

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVANT.<br/>

These were his very words.

</p>

<p class="drama">

EXTON.<br/>

&amp;ldquo;Have I no friend?&amp;rdquo; quoth he. He spake it twice<br/>

And urged it twice together, did he not?

</p>

<p class="drama">

SERVANT.<br/>

He did.

</p>

<p class="drama">

EXTON.<br/>

And speaking it, he wishtly looked on me,<br/>

As who should say &amp;ldquo;I would thou wert the man<br/>

That would divorce this terror from my heart&amp;rdquo;,<br/>

Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go.<br/>

I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneV_28.5"> <b>SCENE V. Pomfret. The dungeon of the Castle.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Richard</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

I have been studying how I may compare<br/>

This prison where I live unto the world;<br/>

And for because the world is populous<br/>

And here is not a creature but myself,<br/>

I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.<br/>

My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,<br/>

My soul the father, and these two beget<br/>

A generation of still-breeding thoughts,<br/>

And these same thoughts people this little world,<br/>

In humours like the people of this world,<br/>

For no thought is contented. The better sort,<br/>

As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed<br/>

With scruples, and do set the word itself<br/>

Against the word, as thus: &amp;ldquo;Come, little ones&amp;rdquo;;<br/>

And then again:<br/>

&amp;ldquo;It is as hard to come as for a camel<br/>

To thread the postern of a needle's eye.&amp;rdquo;<br/>

Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot<br/>

Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails<br/>

May tear a passage through the flinty ribs<br/>

Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,<br/>

And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.<br/>

Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves<br/>

That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,<br/>

Nor shall not be the last, like silly beggars<br/>

Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame<br/>

That many have and others must sit there;<br/>

And in this thought they find a kind of ease,<br/>

Bearing their own misfortunes on the back<br/>

Of such as have before endured the like.<br/>

Thus play I in one person many people,<br/>

And none contented. Sometimes am I king;<br/>

Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,<br/>

And so I am. Then crushing penury<br/>

Persuades me I was better when a king;<br/>

Then am I kinged again, and by and by<br/>

Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke,<br/>

And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,<br/>

Nor I nor any man that but man is<br/>

With nothing shall be pleased till he be eased<br/>

With being nothing.<br/>

Music do I hear? [<i>Music</i>.]<br/>

Ha, ha! keep time! How sour sweet music is<br/>

When time is broke and no proportion kept!<br/>

So is it in the music of men's lives.<br/>

And here have I the daintiness of ear<br/>

To check time broke in a disordered string;<br/>

But for the concord of my state and time<br/>

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.<br/>

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;<br/>

For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock.<br/>

My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar<br/>

Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,<br/>

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,<br/>

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.<br/>

Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is<br/>

Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,<br/>

Which is the bell. So sighs and tears and groans<br/>

Show minutes, times, and hours. But my time<br/>

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,<br/>

While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.<br/>

This music mads me! Let it sound no more;<br/>

For though it have holp madmen to their wits,<br/>

In me it seems it will make wise men mad.<br/>

Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me,<br/>

For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard<br/>

Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter a <span class="charname">Groom</span> of the stable.</p>

<p class="drama">

GROOM.<br/>

Hail, royal Prince!

</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

Thanks, noble peer.<br/>

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.<br/>

What art thou, and how comest thou hither<br/>

Where no man never comes but that sad dog<br/>

That brings me food to make misfortune live?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GROOM.<br/>

I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,<br/>

When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,<br/>

With much ado at length have gotten leave<br/>

To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.<br/>

O, how it erned my heart when I beheld<br/>

In London streets, that coronation day,<br/>

When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,<br/>

That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,<br/>

That horse that I so carefully have dressed.

</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,<br/>

How went he under him?

</p>

<p class="drama">

GROOM.<br/>

So proudly as if he disdained the ground.

</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!<br/>

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;<br/>

This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.<br/>

Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down,<br/>

Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck<br/>

Of that proud man that did usurp his back?<br/>

Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,<br/>

Since thou, created to be awed by man,<br/>

Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse,<br/>

And yet I bear a burden like an ass,<br/>

Spurred, galled and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Keeper</span> with a dish.</p>

<p class="drama">

KEEPER. [<i>To the Groom</i>.]<br/>

Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay.

</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

</p>

<p class="drama">

GROOM.<br/>

My tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exit.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KEEPER.<br/>

My lord, will't please you to fall to?

</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KEEPER.<br/>

My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,<br/>

Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.

</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!<br/>

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Strikes the Keeper.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

KEEPER.<br/>

Help, help, help!

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Exton</span> and Servants, armed.</p>

<p class="drama">

RICHARD.<br/>

How now! What means death in this rude assault?<br/>

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Snatching a weapon and killing one.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

Go thou and fill another room in hell.</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>He kills another, then <span class="charname">Exton</span> strikes him down.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire<br/>

That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand<br/>

Hath with the King's blood stained the King's own land.<br/>

Mount, mount, my soul! Thy seat is up on high,<br/>

Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Dies.</i>]</p>

<p class="drama">

EXTON.<br/>

As full of valour as of royal blood!<br/>

Both have I spilled. O, would the deed were good!<br/>

For now the devil that told me I did well<br/>

Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.<br/>

This dead king to the living king I'll bear.<br/>

Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

<h3 id="sceneV_28.6"> <b>SCENE VI. Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle.</b></h3>

<p class="scenedesc"> Flourish. Enter <span class="charname">King Henry</span> and

<span class="charname">York</span> with Lords and Attendants.</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear<br/>

Is that the rebels have consumed with fire<br/>

Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire,<br/>

But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Northumberland</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

Welcome, my lord. What is the news?</p>

<p class="drama">

NORTHUMBERLAND.<br/>

First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.<br/>

The next news is: I have to London sent<br/>

The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.<br/>

The manner of their taking may appear<br/>

At large discoursed in this paper here.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains,<br/>

And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Fitzwater</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

FITZWATER.<br/>

My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London<br/>

The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,<br/>

Two of the dangerous consorted traitors<br/>

That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot.<br/>

Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Harry Percy</span> with the

<span class="charname">Bishop of Carlisle</span>.</p>

<p class="drama">

PERCY.<br/>

The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,<br/>

With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,<br/>

Hath yielded up his body to the grave.<br/>

But here is Carlisle living, to abide<br/>

Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Carlisle, this is your doom:<br/>

Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,<br/>

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life.<br/>

So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife;<br/>

For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,<br/>

High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

</p>

<p class="scenedesc"> Enter <span class="charname">Exton</span> with attendants,

bearing a coffin.</p>

<p class="drama">

EXTON.<br/>

Great king, within this coffin I present<br/>

Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies<br/>

The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,<br/>

Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

Exton, I thank thee not, for thou hast wrought<br/>

A deed of slander with thy fatal hand<br/>

Upon my head and all this famous land.

</p>

<p class="drama">

EXTON.<br/>

From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

</p>

<p class="drama">

KING HENRY.<br/>

They love not poison that do poison need,<br/>

Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,<br/>

I hate the murderer, love him murdered.<br/>

The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,<br/>

But neither my good word nor princely favour.<br/>

With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,<br/>

And never show thy head by day nor light.<br/>

Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe<br/>

That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.<br/>

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,<br/>

And put on sullen black incontinent.<br/>

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land<br/>

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.<br/>

March sadly after; grace my mournings here<br/>

In weeping after this untimely bier.

</p>

<p class="right"> [<i>Exeunt.</i>]</p>

{{close-shakespeare}}</text>